


bard, interrupted

by MissDinahDarling



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bickering, Coitus Interruptus, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Old Married Couple, Roach Has the Brain Cell (The Witcher), Roach is So Done (The Witcher), Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDinahDarling/pseuds/MissDinahDarling
Summary: They were supposed to have left the brothel by midnight in order to give Geralt ample time to chase after the ekimmara, but here Geralt is, still waiting outside the damn building because Jaskier isbusy entertaining..."If anything, I ought to be mad at him,” Geralt mutters to himself as he pads silently towards Jaskier’s room, “he knows hunts are time-sensitive matters and if he thinks he can just fit in a quick–-"Then he hears it and freezes instantly. A moan, low and drawn-out, echoed down the hallway from Jaskier’s room. It was masculine and deep andit didn’t belong to Jaskier.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 465
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	bard, interrupted

Geralt sighs as he glances up at the midnight moon.

They were supposed to have left the tavern an hour ago and he just knows that hunting down the ekimmara will only become more difficult with every moment wasted. Roach throws her head back impatiently, chuffing as she knocks against his shoulder heavily.

“I know, I’m bored too,” Geralt remarks, for he had spent the better half of the last hour steadily depleting the tavern’s stock of ale and the last few minutes were spent tacking up Roach. Now he’s just waiting outside the building, staring up at the stars, well aware that his wayward bard was… _busy_.

Honestly though, how long does it take for Jaskier to get his rocks off?

Geralt _could_ have been impressed, but he’s too preoccupied with feelings of pure irritation over his delayed hunt.

Roach chuffs again, knocks him more insistently and Geralt knows that if he doesn’t head out now, he’ll lose the scent of the creature. he could just leave the bard behind, but Jaskier has been loudly, insistently, adamant that the witcher _not_ abandon him again for his hunts lately, _especially_ if said hunts were to take longer than a day to complete.

Apparently being stingy on details came with strong, vocal consequences, who knew?

“I have to go get him, don’t I?” Geralt asks aloud, to which Roach responds by nudging him towards the door. he sighs again and pats her head consolingly, “alright, but if he gets mad, I get to blame you.”

She snorts softly which Geralt takes to mean _fine, but he won’t believe you_.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters as he stalks back towards the tavern – he nods to her as he slips inside and is instantly greeted by warm air and strong mead. He wrinkles his nose as he pads across the room towards the stairs – a part of him wishes he had waited inside longer, but then his ears prick up at the familiar sounds of muttered disdain and knows that no amount of heat is worth the hate.

He ventures up the stairs towards the rooms in the back – he had intended on dragging his bard out when he had left ages ago, but a note had been slid under his door: _entertaining, won’t take long, don’t you dare leave without me_.

“If anything, I ought to be mad at him,” Geralt mutters to himself as he pads silently towards Jaskier’s room, “he knows hunts are time-sensitive matters and if he thinks he can just fit in a quick–”

Then he hears _it_ and freezes instantly. A moan, low and drawn-out, echoed down the hallway from Jaskier’s room. It was masculine and deep and _it didn’t belong to Jaskier_.

Geralt swallows as he stiffly approaches the door. He _thought_ … at least, he had never _noticed_ … but then, it doesn’t really matter, for the witcher has been around for years and truly, men loving men has always been the least of anyone’s problems in this continent, so—

 _“Geralt_ …”

—so, that was _definitely_ Jaskier.

Geralt blinks as he feels his body rock under the echoes of his name on Jaskier’s tongue. The bard’s lyrical voice curls around every letter, cradling each syllable and purring out the name like a lover. It… it doesn’t exactly _shock_ him, but it does do… _something_ to him. Something strong and powerful which threatens to swallow up all logic in his mind. Geralt doesn’t even waste time deliberating his options, for he lifts his hand to knock on the door, but then he hears it again - “ _Geralt, darling please”_ \- and for a moment, he wonders if the bard knows he’s just outside the door.

But that’s impossible, right?

Geralt opens his mouth to speak, to announce his presence, but he can’t… all he can do is taste the ash on his tongue – for his fiercely overpowering feelings have cremated the words in his throat before he has a chance to release them upon the air.

He can’t talk but he _can_ act.

So, Geralt grips the handle, tests it experimentally and is relieved to find it unlocked – as silently as he can, the witcher slips inside the dark room and shuts the door behind him. the fire crackles in the fireplace, the room is thick with spiced arousal and two voices harmonise as one with lust dripping from every syllable uttered. Geralt swallows as his eyes follow the track of discarded clothes and boots until his gaze lands on the bed.

Jaskier lies on his stomach, his face pressed into the pillows as he pants openly, wetly against the silk. His back is arched as his fingers cling to the headboard – his legs are spread wide and between them rests a young man. He’s blond and handsome, with muscle rippling under tanned skin and sheer silk.

He also has three fingers buried deep inside Jaskier’s body – the witcher’s mouth slackens, his eyes widening as he watches the digits work the bard over, playing Jaskier like an instrument and coaxing out the sweetest noises.

They both have their backs to him, both utterly unaware of his invasion.

Geralt isn’t ignorant of what Jaskier is to him, but he’s never felt _strange_ about the man visiting brothels, nor has he ever felt _off_ about seeing the bard tangle with other people. This isn’t even the first time he’s walked in on Jaskier having sex – after travelling together for so long, they’ve both developed a lack of shame, especially where sex is concerned. They tend to be uncaring of interrupting each other when entertaining a lady, walking in and out of rooms with sheer indifference plastered across their features, with only faint appreciation clinging to their gazes – and perhaps, a bit _more_ than that, if truth be told – but this… this is different, for Geralt has _never_ seen Jaskier like _this_.

He should… _leave_.

He… shouldn’t have entered, should have knocked, should have been more patient, this is the worst idea he’s ever had and–

 _Fuck_.

–and then Jaskier sighs and chokes, sweetly pitched, before he turns his face into the bed – he utters something desperate and needy, pushing against the fingers inside him with a demanding whine. His companion chuckles lowly and leans over that beautifully arched back.

“What was that?”

Jaskier growls and whines out his order again, but it’s still muffled by the sheets pooled beneath his mouth.

“Speak a little louder, handsome,” the man purrs, stroking Jaskier’s rump with his free hand, using his other to torment the bard with soft, gentle, teasing touches.

Geralt rolls his eyes and folds his arms; before he’s really aware of what he’s doing, he answers the man’s question for Jaskier: “He says he wants you to pull his hair,” he leans against the wall with an unimpressed expression, “and that you’re not fucking him hard enough.”

The gentleman blinks and gapes whilst Jaskier freezes and snaps his head around, eyes wide with horror. Again, without really thinking through his actions, Geralt continues with, “you seem shocked that i know what you like in bed – honestly, I’m insulted you think I _wouldn’t_ overhear your demands through the walls.”

The silence stretches and the horror on Jaskier’s face builds.

“You’re awfully bossy, though that doesn’t surprise me,” Geralt finishes, his voice dropping to a mere whisper.

The silence stretches longer and the witcher is suddenly aware that perhaps walking in on his friend wasn’t the best course of action to take. Regret hits his stomach like a block of ice and he clears his throat awkwardly as he pushes away from the wall.

“I just…” Geralt trails off, waving his hand about airily, “we were supposed to have left an hour ago, wanted to see what was taking you so long, and well – I suppose I have my answer and–”

And it’s like a spell is broken, for the bard blinks and jolts up, as if just registering the witcher’s presence as more than a dream, as a vision, as a _nightmare_ come true.

“G-Geralt!” he gasps, his eyes flicking between the witcher and the man on his bed – it takes a moment before he shakes his head and pushes the other man away from him with abject devastation written across his features, “you… you must think me… a… a…”

“A _cad_ ,” Geralt deadpans, “for leaving me waiting whilst you took all the time in the world to sheath your sword.” He folds his arms and arches a brow at the bard, “ _again_.”

“A cad?” Jaskier echoes, the salted scent of distress being washed over by indignant outrage. the bard rears up, completely uncaring of his own nude form as he rises from the bed and strides up to the witcher, “ _I’m_ a cad?”

“I told you I wanted to leave _before_ midnight – guess what time it is,” Geralt replies, narrowing his eyes and forcing himself not to look down but… dammit, he _really_ wants to look down, “here’s a hint - the sun hasn’t risen yet.”

“Oh, you think you’re so funny,” the bard remarks, hands on hips, “you _never_ told me you wanted to leave _before_ midnight! You said you had a hunt on but that you needed to get ready first,” then he throws his hands up, “so tell me Geralt: where is the part where you mention midnight?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, “you probably zoned out the moment I began talking about the ekimmara – you never listen when I talk about ‘boring’ beasts. You always preach about how important details are, but I bet you still don’t know the difference between a grave hag and a necrophage.”

“I _never_ zone out when you talk to me, no matter how boring the beast!” Jaskier says, affronted, holding a hand to his chest as he gapes, “how dare you! you didn’t tell me about midnight being important and so you only have yourself to blame for waiting around and getting impatient and now, you’ve just barged into my room and witnessed me with a… a… oh fuck! Is this the part where you tell me we can’t travel together, is that it?”

Geralt blinks at the abrupt change of subject, “no, I—”

“I knew I should have locked the door, but I thought ‘no, no need to lock the door, Geralt is busy getting ready for his hunt, he won’t barge in’ and yet here you are, why should I be surprised? You’re always full of surprises, always doing the opposite of what people should expect, more fool me, I suppose—”

Geralt sighs as Jaskier continues with his tirade, pacing around the room akin a wolf caught in a cage. The bard’s companion eventually leaves the bed and meanders over to stand by Geralt – he moves awkwardly with a sheepish expression on his face as he hides his own naked cock with his hands.

“So,” the man says, “you’re in a hurry?”

Geralt sighs, “apparently.”

“—honestly, this is just scandalous, even for me! Bursting into my room, giving demands about what I like in bed and yes, okay, you hit the nail on the head, but how dare you just stand there with that smirk on your face like you think you’re so clever—”

"Oh, fuck me,” the man utters with faint awe, “he’s still going.”

“You get used to it,” Geralt responds dryly, before eyeing the man with molten eyes, “or perhaps _you_ won’t.”

The man eyes him back shrewdly, before he gestures to himself and Jaskier with a flippant hand, “you truly aren’t surprised, or even bothered, by this?”

“This isn’t our first brothel,” then Geralt glances down at the nude man, “although, the extra cock in his bed _is_ new.”

“What, you think vaginas are the only body parts worth selling?” the man throws back with narrow eyes full of disdain.

“I…” Geralt trails off, feeling foolish and lost and very, very childish for some reason, “I suppose you have a point.”

“Suppose?” the man repeats archly, “I have a damn good point!”

“—the betrayal just cuts deeper than a blade, slicing my soul with unrepentant aggression! Seeing your eyes glowing like fierce embers in the sordid darkness of my room just scorched my heart beyond repair – and to think, it must be but a drop in the ocean of turmoil which threatens to drown you—”

Geralt winces because Jaskier always resorts to metaphors and flowery descriptors when his emotions get the better of him – it’s something of a safety net for the bard, comfortable and familiar when caught in a situation which leaves him unbalanced and floundering.

“Jaskier, I—” the witcher begins, wanting to end the bard’s inner torment before it truly engulfs him, but the bard’s companion is quick to hush him with a faint glare.

“Don’t interrupt him! This is,” the man sighs dreamily, “oh, this is pure poetry!”

"Great,” Geralt sighs flatly, “another _artist_.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I–” the man cuts himself off and squints at the witcher, as if properly seeing him for the first time all evening, “wait, are you… I recognise you! You’re the witcher from his ballads, right? Geralt of Rivia! The Butcher of Blaviken! The owner of his hea–”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Geralt burrs roughly, glaring sharply – for no one gets to announce the bard’s feelings so casually, so carelessly, "and _don’t_ encourage him either.” Then he narrows his eyes and wonders why he’s even bothering to allow this man to watch as if this scene is little more than free entertainment, “that being said, I _am_ Geralt of Rivia, so you can clearly see that your presence is no longer required. show’s over – get out.”

“But—” the man is quick to protest with pursed lips.

“No,” Geralt holds up his hand with a glare, “leave now and I’ll make sure you’ll still get paid for this wasted evening.”

“With _interest_?” the man grins, arching a brow as he sways his hips.

Geralt snorts – for it’s so like _Jaskier_ to pick such a brazen bed-mate, feisty and outspoken. But then again, any lover of the bard would need a little spice flowing through their veins in order to keep up.

“You’ll find no interest from me,” he says, tilting his head as he considers using _Axii_ on the man, “get out, I won’t ask again.” Not nicely, at least.

The man simply, albeit _dramatically_ , sighs and slowly turns on his heel, “bossy men – they truly are my weakness,” he says, slipping out of the room on silent feet, “have fun,” he wiggles his fingers at Geralt, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“And I’m sure that list is horrifyingly short,” the witcher deadpans, waiting until the man has disappeared behind the door; the moment it shuts, Geralt suddenly and alarmingly becomes aware of how silent the bedroom has become.

He turns and sees the bard staring at him, arms wrapped around his body with his pretty face wary and guarded. Geralt swallows and takes a single step towards the bard, who instantly stiffens and goes on the defensive.

“Jaskier–”

“You must think me a deplorable degenerate,” Jaskier throws out determinedly – his words don’t sound like his though. They sound more like echoing insults from Jaskier’s memories; he’s simply spitting out vitriol which can only belong to the snake haunting his mind, hiding in the shadows and tainting everything it touches. Geralt frowns as he knows the bard is attacking himself, hurting himself, before the witcher has the chance to and…

Well.

That just won’t do.

He takes another step forward, shaking his head firmly, “he says to the _witcher_ –”

“No! You are _not_ a freak!” Jaskier interjects sharply, his guard dropping as fierce determination flashes in his eyes, “I will _not_ allow you to finish that sentence, I refuse it! Don’t you dare–”

And his words are abruptly cut off as Geralt slots their lips together with an impatient huff.

Immediately, Jaskier melts into him and takes control of the kiss. The bard is bossy and demanding in all areas of life, it seems, and Geralt is all too happy to submit to Jaskier’s claiming tongue. He chokes on a reedy whine with flows free from his lungs and is snatched from his mouth by Jaskier’s wicked lips – the bard presses kiss after kiss to Geralt’s numb, swollen mouth, breathing heavy and hot as he clutches desperately at Geralt’s waist…

Though, whilst the witcher is blessed with inhuman lungs, it becomes very apparent that Jaskier tragically lacks such a feature and so their kiss breaks before it can even truly begin; Geralt feels himself instantly mourning the loss of contact the second Jaskier withdraws from him.

The bard’s tongue darts out and laps at his own lips, almost as if he could taste Geralt’s flavour clinging to his mouth – the witcher watches with dark eyes and inflamed desire, burning hot in his veins and igniting infernos in his heart and groin.

Fuck – he wants this bard; he wants this bard _forever_.

“If you’d let me finish,” he utters in the thick silence, his words ringing loud in the small bedroom, before he repeats emphatically, “he says to the witcher - who is in love with the bard.”

There’s a hushed gasp from the other side of the door and Geralt inwardly vows to throttle their little eavesdropper – honestly, the one time he chooses to be emotionally open and it’s with a damn audience. But his darkening thoughts slowly filter away when he gazes at his swaying bard.

Jaskier’s pretty blue eyes widen with awe, his mouth gapes open and his cheeks flush pink.

After an eternity of stunned little silences, he swallows and utters, “oh, _fuck_.”

Geralt gives him a wolfish grin, “we can get to that later.”

Jaskier blinks for a moment, his eyes hazing over with obvious ideas and thoughts of _later_ , before he shakes himself free of his reverie and frowns up at the witcher, “no, wait – you’re in love with me.”

Geralt nods, “yes.”

“Me, Jaskier?” Jaskier asks, gesturing to himself, “I’m the bard you’re in love with?”

“Well, I don’t know any other bard, really,” Geralt says wryly, “so it must be you.”

Jaskier opens his mouth but all that emits from his tongue is a shocked wheeze, rippling from deep in his gut and filling the heavy air around them. The bard blinks hard and fast, before he bites his lip and leans in closer – suspicion glints in his eyes.

“You’re not just saying this because you feel bad about using me as bait for that griffin,” he wheedles, his scent spiking with spice – flirtatious energy crackles in the air; it tastes fresh and sharp and heavy on Geralt’s tongue.

“I _already_ apologised for that and bought you drinks all night – so no,” he replies, his nostrils flaring as he wets his lips. The heat in his groin flickers and flares as he watches Jaskier track his tongue with eager, dark eyes.

The spice thickens and Geralt regrets not doing this sooner.

“And it’s not your way of making up for the fact that you told the innkeeper I was your crippled squire so we could get a deal on our rooms?”

“That was _your_ idea, so no.”

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier flushes, ducking his head, “and…” he glances up with a small smile, “you’re not just saying that so I won’t feel bad about… about what I am?”

“When have I ever prioritised your fragile ego?” Geralt deadpans – it garners the exact reaction he had hoped for.

“My _fragile_ –” Jaskier repeats weakly, before he rears up with his eyes flashing hotly - he throws his hands up, uncaring that he was _still_ naked and thrust a finger in Geralt’s face, “how dare you! you should _always_ prioritise my ego, fragile or otherwise and, and… well, and speaking of egos! how can you be so sure I even like you back, huh mister witcher?”

“You mean, besides the fact that you were moaning my name mere moments ago?”

“ _Geralt_ –!”

“I can smell it,” Geralt interjects lowly, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the spiking spice which clings to Jaskier’s glistening skin, “I could always smell it.”

Jaskier audibly swallows and blinks blankly, before his cheeks flush as his mouth falls open, “you can smell… _Geralt_! why didn’t you say anything earlier? I must have been _radiating_ pheromones like some, some, some wanton hussy! and I bet you _liked_ it, didn’t you? You naughty boy!”

“You were and I did,” Geralt confirms, before he shrugs as he glances away, “but you never said anything and I wasn’t quite sure if I was just… if it was a curiosity you wanted satiating, or something _more_. Honestly, i wanted to see how long you could last,” then he pauses and allows a wolfish grin to blossom on his features, “admittedly, it was a lot longer than i had anticipated – I’m _impressed_ , truly.“

“You wicked man! I’ll have you know I am a _very_ generous lover in bed and I can outlast just about _anyone_ , got it?” Geralt softly chuckles as Jaskier’s eyes glint seriously, “and you know you’re more than just a curiosity to me, I just never thought you could ever be interested in _me_ ,” the bard continues fondly, before he tilts his head with a touch of disbelief colouring his words, “oh, you really love me, huh?”

The witcher resists rolling his eyes – he has the slightest inclination that the bard just really wants to hear it aloud again, “already said as such, right?”

“ _Romantically_ , correct?” Jaskier asks, squinting at the witcher though his smile is sweetly coy, “you don’t just love me as a friend, or a distant cousin twice-removed?”

“How many cousins do you kiss like _that_ – removed or otherwise?” Geralt raises his brows and folds his arms across his chest.

“Fair point,” Jaskier concedes, before a broad grin slowly curls his lips, “you… you _love_ me. You _really_ love me.”

“I really love you,” Geralt confirms softly.

Jaskier lets out a small hysterical laugh before he bounces on his feet and clasps his hands together, “Geralt of Rivia _loves_ me!” he says, before he runs to the door and opens it, revealing the rotten little eavesdropper who had previously warmed Jaskier’s bed, “Geralt of Rivia loves me!” Jaskier announces breathlessly.

“So I heard,” the man states, before the door is shut promptly on his face.

Then Jaskier leaps to the window and throws it open, “Geralt of Rivia loves me!” he declares to every passer-by, to the moon and stars, to the howling wind and gentle breeze, to a very disgruntled Roach who snorts irritably in response, “Roach! darling - Geralt of Rivia loves me!”

There’s another loud snort before Jaskier spins around jubilantly and gazes at Geralt with soft awe glimmering in his eyes. Geralt nods and tilts his head with a gentle smile on his face.

“Geralt of Rivia loves you,” he confirms, feeling oddly indulgent despite the overwhelming waves of fond exasperation. The bard laughs again before he rushes over to throw himself at Geralt – his strong arms loop a neck, whilst firmly muscled legs wrap around a svelte waist. Geralt easily catches him, his hands quick to clutch onto warm, soft skin, “Geralt of Rivia is also wondering why Jaskier the bard hasn’t said it back yet,” he adds, gazing up at the bard with a quirked smile.

“Oh! How utterly remiss of me!” Jaskier gasps, appalled with his own actions – or rather, his own inaction. He pulls back and presses his hot mouth to Geralt’s sharp cheekbones, his strong nose, his bristled cheeks – he rains adoration and devotion upon weathered skin until a pair of impatient, plush lips seek his out and captures them in a kiss most sweet. Their tongues dance together, laying claim to every inch they can reach; Jaskier slowly slips back down to the ground, his teeth tugging and pulling at Geralt’s lips.

The bard clearly thrives in leaving his mark behind on his lovers, using teeth to bite, fingers to bruise and nails to scratch, and the witcher finds he _thoroughly_ enjoys the idea of being covered in Jaskier’s love.

He does _not_ appreciate how short-lived their kiss is, for Jaskier breaks it with a dreamy gasp – their lips are swollen, wet and slackened with desire. He clasps the bard close to his chest, feels his body tremble with how much tighter Jaskier clutches at him – as if he’d _ever_ leave the man should he be released.

“Jaskier the bard loves you too,” Jaskier breathes, hot and light against Geralt’s lips – his eyes have never looked bigger, clearer and brighter with pure adoration, “ever so much – since the beginning, I fear.”

“You fear?” Geralt murmurs, a touch teasing, a tad concerned.

“Of course,” Jaskier replies, gently pushing Geralt towards the bed, forcing the witcher to walk backwards with a single hand against his chest, “I hadn’t thought you would ever see me as something more than—”

“A pain in my ass?” he gets smacked in the arm for his jest, which Geralt knows he deserves but then he snatches up Jaskier’s hand and places a kiss upon the fingers, “I know I made you wait, but I plan to make up for it,” he vows firmly, dropping Jaskier’s hand to clasp the bard’s face and brush their noses together.

“Starting now?” Jaskier purrs, swaying his hips as he playfully curls Geralt’s hair between his fingers. The bard has always expressed a desire to touch the witcher’s hair, to wash it and braid it, plait flowers amongst the wintry locks – for once, Geralt feels inclined towards letting him do whatever he wants,

He’s never felt such sweet waves of pleasure ripple down his body, starting at his scalp and tearing down his spine to pool in his groin – he moans and leans into Jaskier’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut as the bard leans up to nibble at the exposed throat before him.

“No time like the present,” Geralt sighs, falling back against the bed and dragging the bard down with him. Jaskier’s laughter is quickly swallowed up by Geralt’s mouth, his tongue sliding in deep, hot and wet. His hands rest against the small of Jaskier’s back, before his fingers dance up a lithe spine before burying into thick tawny locks of hair.

The ekimmara can wait, he decides, scratching idly at Jaskier’s scalp before he scoops up a section of hair and pulls, _hard_ —

“Geralt, you wicked man!” Jaskier moans, his fingers tearing at buckles and lacings with fierce determination, “I’m going to _ruin_ you!”

“Can’t wait,” Geralt grins, before his smirk is wiped off his face by Jaskier’s nimble, clever fingers slipping into his pants and reducing his world to a single, calloused hand wrapped around his aching cock.

—for now, he’s busy getting ruined by Jaskier, the bard he loves.


End file.
